Ashes and Piano Keys
by Fallen Remains
Summary: Glee club doesnt even know it but theyre about to get a lesson in rebellion when invisible Cady Grey moves to town. Trying to rebound from a frightening past and a dysfunctional family she discovers a hidden gift in her and feelings for a certain guy.
1. Summary

Three years after her mother's abandonment, complicated Cady Grey 's father moves her and her family to Ohio, and to McKinley high school. Quiet and antisocial, Cady sinks into the crowd, invisible. But then, a hidden gift is exposed, and Cady is thrown into the spotlight and into the glee club. With the help of the new teammate, the glee club finally gets it's rebellion, it's time to shine and someone who could help everyone. Someone who has had it much worse off than any of them. And one particular member is through with choosing between an obsessive fame-hogger and a lying cheater… Cause he has his eyes on a very specific new girl… And together, as the New Directions, the world is their stage, and they're taking over.


	2. Me and Figgins: BFFs

I weave through the crowded hallways like I've been there forever. New kid. Hi, nice to meet ya! What a load of bull.

Awkwardly I shuffle through, people push past me, no apologies to utter. Likewise. I'm just a ghost. Invisible.

Well, I walk in, note in hand and I hold it out for the super seventies receptionist to take.

"New kid," I grumble.

She doesn't look up.

"Bets, you know how I feel about him. No, girl, I won't do it, I'm not!"

I sigh and make my presence known with a loud clearing of the throat.

The receptionist lazily points to the office behind her, she doesn't even glance at me. Whatever. "Hope the day is as special as you are!" I giggle under my breath, coating it all with a boatload of sarcasm.

She still doesn't hear me.

I roll my eyes and grip the strap of my military green messenger bag. Iron-on patches and buttons and sharpie marks and signatures from my friends cover the bag as though someone has spilled some sort of decoration liquid all over it. I open the door for the principal's office.

"Ding dong," I say as the door shuts.

A short Indian man is behind the desk. FIGGINS is embossed in a thick gold on a wood plate on the desk. Principal Figgins stands up and smiles. "Cady Naomi Grey, welcome to McKinley!"

"Word, soul brother," I say, taking a seat in one of the two chairs in his office. Ignoring his hand, that's outstretched for a shake.

"So how's the shiz done around here?" I ask patting the arms of the chair.

"Miss Grey, first order of business, your old high school sent over this…" He drops a file on his desk, with a heavy pound.

"S'not that big," I shrug.

"Miss Grey, you've had more than your share of run in's with class mates. Some teachers said you're so quiet and others wrote 'rude to class mates'."

"IF you have enemies, it means you stick up for what you believe in."

"But Miss Grey this is more than just standing up."

Calm, and Zen I say, "I think those who are too afraid to say what they want to should have another voice to be there for them."

He sighs. "Please, Miss Grey," He has his head in his hands. "Please, just try. Try to be good."

I cross my fingers. "Here's hoping."

"Your old principal warned me…" He muttered under his breath in his thick Arabian accent.

I stand up triumphantly, "You shoulda listened." He peers at me through his fingers and I extend my hand.

"Nice to meet you, Principal Figgins sir."

He sighs, stands and shakes.

"First period Valdez?" He asks, taking my schedule from my hands. He studies it for a moment.

"Down the hall and third door on my right." He says handing the schedule back.

"Thanks," I half grumble and half grin to appear somewhat decent before I exit. 


	3. Memories Flow Hot as Summer

I've got Spanish next, for fifth. and my locker is near where Mr. Schuester's class is located so I stop there and open it up.

The metal clangs that familiar ring and I sigh. Hitting the restart button isn't exactly a call for celebration. I pick at the point of my eye careful not to disturb my thick black eyeliner and mascara that already looks as though it's smudged.

One locker over is one of my new locker neighbors. His hair is gelled just so under his light leather pageboy cap and his clothes are neat and pleated and fashionable… He has on tight grey washed skinny jeans and a tuxedo vest that looks like the one I have in my wardrobe over a tight white v-neck [that also looks like it belongs to me]. His shoes… Loafers, but he rocks them. He looks like Corey…. And that's when I snap my gaze away…

Please don't ask about Corey. I-I don't wanna talk about it right now…

The only decoration on my locker door, is an old picture of my friends, and two mini posters of bands, one for All Time Low, the other for iwrestledabearonce.

I sigh again as I pull out a fresh and new notebook and practically slam the locker door back into its place.

I start to turn away. But then I hear a clash and crude laughter. I turn swiftly on my heel. Tux Vest Loafers is on the ground. Blue gush is all over his face and clothes. He looks pained by it, but just wipes it off of his eyes and acts like it's a normal thing.

Then I hear the words.

"Stupid fag."

"Don't you have some boys to kiss, Princess?"

The stupid laughter.

It echoes. I feel my eye dilate to a small dot.

What this school doesn't know about me? I'm wired. So if I see something like this, I'm set off.

I've seen this go down the wrong road. And well, I tend to…

"Hey!" I'm down the hallway in a blink. I give a good shove on one jock's chest. He's set back a few feet, but he's not stopped.

" What do you think you're doing?" I growl, a force to be reckoned with.

"I think I'm going to football practice, so get out of my way, emo eyes."

They both snigger and try to go past me again, but this time I make myself visible for a moment.

"Speak to him like that again and I'll cut your face off." I threaten, not backing down.

The large black one just laughs me off.

"You think you're funny, huh? Well I'll tell you what, emo eyes, you might need a little demonstration about how things go here-"

"I think you need a little demonstration on how to treat people right! If you wanna go at for being who he is than you're gonna have to go through me."

In the depth of the calm, I seem so insanely violent that I don't even realize the sharp edge to my tone. The white guy nudges the other football player, "Dude, I'm not about to mess with this small chick. C'mon we're late, Azimo."

Azimo takes a breath. "Fine, but don't think you've won here, emo eyes."

My eyes narrow. "Fine, but don't think you've won either. Leave. Him. Alone. Got it?"

They look like they wanna say something but don't. They go on their merry way.

I look down at Tux Vest Loafers. He stares up at me, confused, like he's never had anyone stand for him before.

I extend my hand, and shuffle around, courage gone. He takes it, his hand sticky and I see what they threw at him. A slushie.

Ridiculous.

He takes my hand and I pull him up.

We just kind of stand there for a minute. Then I just don't think about who I'm dealing with. I pat him on the shoulder and then wrap my arm around his shoulders and walk him to the bathroom.

GLEEGLEEGLEEGLEEGLEE

I found a stock chair in the janitor's closet near the girls bathroom, so that Tux Vest Loafers could sit down. It's been a week now, so I can cut class to help this guy out.

I rinse out his hair for a moment then he speaks. "Why did you do that?"

Silent, I just shrug.

There's a soft pause in the air and then I manage, "It was right." '

"They're going to come after you now. You've just made some very awful enemies."

"If you have enemies, it means you stand up for something."

He doesn't say anything, the silence and the look on his face tells me he thinks I'm right.

"You're new here," He observes.

I nod. "Yep. Have been for a week now."

There's more silence. I turn off the faucet. I point at the hand dryer, but he knows the drill.

I lean against the wall of a stall. Then I notice his shirt.

I take mine off so that I'm standing only in a grey cami.

"Here, take my shirt. I'm sure it'll fit. " He looks up, careful not to bash his forehead on the dryer.

"What are you going to wear then?" He asks, not taking it.

"Just give me your vest. I'll wash it and give it to you tomorrow."

He stands, removing his vest, I hand him the Eric Clapton vintage t-shirt. He stares at me, then it, his face twists a little. "Thanks," he mutters.

It's not his style. Or his music.

As he stuffs his stained white shirt into his bag, I ask finally.

"Why do you let them treat you like that?"

I throw the vest on and button up. He tosses on the oversized shirt and then adjusts the strap of his bag promptly before looking at me, almost sternly and answering with,

"I'm me. No one said they had to like it."

"But who gave them the right to come out and throw a freaking blueberry slushie on you?"

"Modern society."

I back up a bit and pick my messenger bag back up, I look into the mirror. My eyes are covered in thick black eyeliner and makeup. But the rest of my face is clean and pale. I turn back to him. He's right, now. Memories of Corey come running up to me.

"Well then they must really have no lives if they have to make yours a living hell," I tell him, my face stiffening.

"You'll get your vest back tomorrow."

Then I grasp the end on the messenger strap and walk out. And I leave with that feeling, I haven't felt so protective since him I cringe, my shoulder tensing, my throat thickening. Eyes burning and nose clogged, I take off down the hall.


End file.
